


Every Time You Leave, I Hit Rock Bottom

by arazialotis



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arazialotis/pseuds/arazialotis
Summary: A/N: Written in celebration for Angelina! @atc74 A while ago she celebrated 4,000 followers and 4 years on tumblr! Can you believe it?! Congratulations girl!! If you aren’t following her, do it now! You won’t be disappointed. For the duet challenge, I chose Rock Bottom (Hailee Steinfeld & DNCE) for inspiration. Give it a listen to get in the mood and let me know how I did.Summary: Scenes from the up and downs of Dean and Y/N’s relationship as they struggle to balance his life as a hunter.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Every Time You Leave, I Hit Rock Bottom

***November 5***  
“Do you love me?” You cooed in the aftermath of a passionate heat. 

He chuckled, as if your question was absurd. He swam through the tangle of sheets to kiss your lips. “Of course I do.” 

Though you doubted his faithfulness, he had sworn it to you. He laid his head against your chest. His hand found yours. The ring he had given you months earlier twirled gently as his fingers danced over it. 

“I’m gonna miss you.” You admitted stroking your fingers through his hair. 

You felt him hum in delight.

“I always miss you.” 

*** November 30***  
White flecks fell outside the window, joining a hefty covering on the ground. The snow muffled the sounds of the night, making the world seem at peace. Your arms held you tight, waiting for him to finish shoveling the drive. The flyer clenched in your fist crinkled as you contemplated the best way to bring it up with Dean. 

He came in, a burling heap of wool and snow, his cheeks red from the blistering cold. You hustled back to the kitchen, pretending not to have lingered. The hot toddies you prepared were still steaming. You whisked in a drizzle of honey. 

Dean made his way over to you, brushing snowflakes out of his hair. Your heart warmed seeing a boyish look to him.

“What?” He matched your smile. 

“Nothing.” You smirked and pushed his mug closer to him. You pressed your own to your lips. “You’re cute.” 

“You’re cute.” He repeated, gently kissing your forehead before taking the hot drink. He set his drink back down, the flyer on the counter catching his eye. “What’s this?”

You took another sip, concealing the flush to your cheeks. “Hmm.”

His eyes darted back and forth, scanning the paper. “It looks like Dan’s Auto is hiring.” 

“Oh.” You set your mug down, moving closer to him, wrapping your arm around his waist, pretending to read with him though you already knew the words. “You’d be good at something like that.”

If he knew what you were doing, he didn’t hint at it. “Yeah, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, setting the flyer back down and went back to the tea. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to get more information.” You nudged. 

He smiled and leaned into you. “Right now, I just want to get warm.” He nipped at your neck. 

You chuckled, as heat and desire spread through you. You let the conversation end for now. 

*** December 12 ***  
Dean stumbled into the bedroom late at night. He’d been gone a week and a half. At first you thought he was drunk, but when your eyes adjusted to the dark, panic rose up into your chest. You scrambled out of bed and followed him into the bathroom. 

“You’re hurt.” Your eyes went wide with fear.

He balled up his flannel and threw it in the sink, the water turning red with blood. Three long slashes ran from his shoulder down his arm. “It's fine.”

“We need to get you to a hospital.” You stammered.

Before you could run for the keys he caught your wrist, stopping you. “With what insurance?”

“God. I don’t know, we’ll figure it out later.” You pulled your arm away from his grip. 

“It’s fine.” He assured, sitting down on the edge of the bath. 

You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Okay.” Somehow you managed to force the panic down. “Okay.” You repeated, going for the medicine cabinet, looking for gauze, alcohol, anything that could help. 

*** December 19 ***  
“You’re not going back out!” You stomped your foot on the ground like a toddler who had no chance at winning an argument. 

He shook his head and chuckled as if to contain his anger. 

“Your arm was nearly ripped off a week ago!” You continued, attempting to make him see logic. “You're in no condition to hunt.” 

He threw his duffel bag over his shoulder. “I’ve had worse Y/N. Anyways, it's recovering just fine.”

Fine. You hated that word. It was if he used it to cover up any indifference growing in your relationship. You went to strike him, only to prove him wrong. His hand caught you before you could. 

“Are you fucking serious?” He accused you, disdain seething out of his eyes. He pushed you aside and went for the door. 

The worry balled up, forming a pit in your stomach. Staying with you until he returned. 

*** January 3 ***  
“Don’t give me that look Y/N.” Dean could feel your scorn through the dark bedroom, dimly lit by the full moon’s beam. 

“What look?” You huffed. You had woken to rustling and the spot next to you cold. He was planning to leave you. Again. You had stayed silent, watching him pack, waiting for him to realize you were awake. 

“Y/N.” He groaned. “Don’t do this, not now.”

“I’m not doing anything Dean.” You argued back. 

He sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to reason with you with anger. Releasing his own, he gently crawled onto the bed, creeping towards you. You flipped over, avoiding his gaze and pulled the blankets into a shield around you. 

His breath was on the back of your neck. He spoke in a whisper. “You’re resenting me.” He kissed the back of your head. “You’re pouting.” Another kiss. He paused hearing a whimper. “And now you are crying.” He laid down and pulled you tight against his chest, a tear sliding down his own cheek. 

When you finally found courage to speak, your voice shook. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Babe… you know I have to.”

You turned around to meet him. “No, you don’t.”

His thumb wiped away a trailing tear against your skin. “Who else is going to do it?”

“... Sam.”

“He’s across the country. ‘Sides, it’s only a state over. I’ll be a week, tops.” He kissed your forehead before getting up to finish packing. 

You didn’t turn to watch him leave. You only stared at the empty pillow next to yours. He left the door cracked open. It wasn’t until you heard the front door shut and the rumble of his car coming to life when the anger surfaced again. 

Gently grabbing for his pillow, wrapping your arms around it and burying your face in his scent, you whispered,“Fuck you.”

*** Valentine’s ***  
Traditionally, the holiday hadn’t meant much to you. A way to push over priced Hallmark cards with clashing colors. But Dean was home, and so recently he hadn’t been. You fussed around the kitchen in a little black dress, concealing something skimpy and lacy underneath. Filet mignon sizzled against hot cast iron and a cherry pie bubbled in the oven. Dean shuffled behind you. You turned around hoping to be met with a kiss. Instead you saw that dreaded duffel bag. 

“No.” Your heart sank. “Not today.” 

He gave you that look. The look that said, this is what you sign up for.

“Can it at least be after dinner?” You pleaded. 

He sighed, running his hand through his hair, contemplating it for a second. “The longer I wait, the more someone could get hurt.”

You’re hurting me, you thought to yourself. It was selfish though. You closed your eyes and hung your head in defeat. 

He strided closer to you, planted a kiss onto your forehead and pulled you close to him. 

“We’ll celebrate when I get home. K?” 

You nodded into his chest.

*** February 25 ***  
“You just got home. And you’re already leaving again!” You fumed. 

“What choice do I have!?” Dean clenched his jaw, attempting to control his temper. 

The nearest object to you was his phone. You picked it up and threw it at him. He easily caught it, avoiding any blow you intended. “Call someone else to take it. Don’t go. Take that job at the shop. Those are your choices Dean!” 

“This is my job Y/N! This is the only life I know. I can’t sit around here, with a white picket fence, knowing people are out there are dying on my watch.” 

“Then take me with you!” You pleaded. “I can’t keep watching you leave, not knowing if you’ll come back or not.” Tears threatened to spill out. 

“Like hell!” He firmly protested. “I won’t put you in harm’s way” 

You rolled your eyes. “God, I wish you realized how hypocritical you sound right now. Can’t you realize that's how I feel every single time.”

“I can take care of myself.” He thumped against his chest. “I always have. And I don’t need your whiny, nagging ass causing extra stress on a hunt.” 

A feral scream escaped from your throat. You slid off the ring he had given to you months earlier and chucked it across the room at him. He didn’t bother to catch it. “Fuck off Dean. You might as well not bother coming home.” 

“Maybe I won’t then!” He grabbed his bag, slamming the door shut with a bang. 

*** March 4 ***  
“I’m so sorry baby.” Dean’s gasped. His mouth buried into the crook of your neck. Your fingers ran down his bare torso as he rocked into you. “I’ll never leave you again.” 

You moaned as your bodies clashed against each other, moving together, beads of sweat outlining each muscle. He groaned, his kisses growing more hungry and desperate as he neared a climax. A whimper escaped your lips and sent him over the edge. He buried his face into your shoulder, panting for air. 

With a final grunt, he was satisfied, leaving you empty and craving for more. He rolled over on his back catching his breath. 

“God. I needed that.” He ran his fingers through his hair before getting up for a water break. 

You turned over to your side, pulling up a sheet to cover yourself. ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep.’

*** April 10 ***  
To be fair, he did stay longer than usual. But the itch got to him. One he couldn’t help but scratch. You knew it was coming. He became more antsy. Pacing around, working on mundane house projects, spending more time outside. Honestly, it was making you anxious.

You began searching for cold cases in the area, drawing out farther until something seemed to fit. Over dinner, you handed him the phone to look over the articles. He kept his expression as blank as he could. 

“What do you think?” You prompted. 

He set the phone down and searched your eyes, treading lightly. “Could be a case.” He went back pushing food around his plate but not eating. 

You dabbed your mouth with a napkin, and then cleared your plate, washing it in the sink. “Maybe…” You sighed. “Maybe, you should look into it.” 

He came up behind you, turning off the water, and wrapping his arms around you. You both stood there for several minutes, your heartbeats matching in rhythm.

His whisper barely broke the silence. “Are you sure?”

You only nodded. 

He gently kissed the side of your temple. “Love you.” He slipped away. 

“Love you too.”

*** May 8 ***  
“Who the fuck was that Dean?!”

“Nobody!” He yelled back into his cell.

“Like Hell!” A scoff made it through your seething anger. 

“It was just the TV, Y/N.” He calmed his voice, to try and reason with you.

“Bullshit!” Your blood began to boil. “She was right fucking next to you!” 

“Stop being so fucking paranoid. You know you’re my one and only.” You heard the rustling of sheets. 

You made your way through the dark hall to the medicine cabinet, looking for something to cool a rising migraine. “Then prove it.” 

“What?” He stuttered. 

“Prove it. Give me a face-time tour of your hotel room.” You popped the bottle and swallowed a few pills. 

His voice lowered to a rigid growl. “I don’t have to prove anything to you. If you love me, you’ll trust me.”

You slammed your phone shut and threw it across the room. 

*** May 11 ***  
Dean entered the home, ready for a fight. He slammed the door on the way in and tossed his key’s onto the kitchen counter. 

“Why haven’t you been taking my calls?” He called out, waiting a few moments before going to look for you. “Y/N?” His voice echoed through the empty house. “What the hell?” He muttered to himself. 

He paced down the hallway, calling your name again. Upon entering the door, it became abundantly clear. He ripped open the closet door, and stood back. Only his items remained.


End file.
